The Boy in the Bookshelf
by ShayaLonnie
Summary: In the aftermath of war, Hermione retreats to the Hogwarts library to repair her sanctuary and herself. Through broken magic, she's given the opportunity to help fix even more when she stumbles across a friendless first year Gryffindor.
1. Chapter 1

**Warning** : Rated T for language. This story is Canon Divergent. For further disclaimers and warnings, make sure to read my profile. [Updated Jan 2017.]

 **A/N** : Probably the worst thing I've ever written and I'm still laughing. Someone joked about this a while ago, and I took it as a challenge.

 **Beta Love** : Brightki, claireabellalou, SwishandFlick007, MadamBSnape, meenakaster

* * *

 **The Boy in the Bookshelf**

Chapter One

* * *

 **August 2nd, 1998**

"I'm not good with crowds."

The cup of tea in her hand had slowly gone cold as she ignored it in favour of glancing over the portraits of the former headmasters that lined Minerva's office. She refused to make eye contact with the one of Dumbledore no matter how much it twinkled in her direction. She'd been told that the one of Snape was in the dungeons somewhere since the Ministry had thrown a fit over Harry wanting it to be hung up with the others, something her best friend was still stewing over as he waited for the chance to make the case in front of the Wizengamot. Because Harry couldn't ever do anything by half measures unless it was his homework.

The war was over and had been for three months to the day. The Wizarding world was celebrating, Hogwarts had finished rebuilding, but the survivors were still healing. The Weasley children had buried their brother and then banded together in an effort to keep both Molly and Arthur afloat despite the grief that was trying to sink them. Harry had finally embraced his fame, something that the Ministry was sorely regretting now that he'd taken to championing every cause that they generally detested. It helped him to keep busy—to have a purpose.

Hermione, however, no longer felt she belonged. What little romance that she and Ron thought they could have had faded swiftly, leaving behind nothing but friendship which, she had to admit, they both preferred. Her parents, memories of her lost in the wind of magic, were happy in Australia, or so the Aurors had told her when she'd begged Kingsley to have someone look into it for her. She didn't think she could see them with her own eyes and not let the last strings of what was holding her together finally snap. She visited the Weasleys when she could—when their grief didn't overwhelm her with reminders of her own; she helped rebuild Hogwarts alongside Harry—until it was complete and then he'd gone straight to the Ministry to join the Aurors and start rebuilding the world, something that she wished she could do were it not for the crippling anxiety that made her think of Death Eaters in the DOM, Snatchers on the footpaths, and the feel of crumbling brick and glass brushing up against her skin as she took flight on the back of a blind dragon. Minerva's office had become a bit of a sanctuary, and tea with the new Headmistress of Hogwarts was like a weekly healing session for the young Muggle-born.

"I want to finish my N.E.W.T.s but . . . but maybe through correspondence, if you'd allow me."

Minerva frowned. "I'd allow you to return to Hogwarts."

Hermione looked away. "I'm not a student anymore. I'm already a year older than those in my own . . . I just wish I could bury myself inside a library and not come out until I was well again. Does that make me a coward?" She looked up a moment later when a hand touched her own.

"Miss Granger, you were well Sorted, and I'll not have you questioning the Sorting Hat, nor sullying the name of Godric Gryffindor by besmirching the name of one of the greatest witches to have ever been placed in his House." Minerva's lip pursed and she levelled Hermione with a gaze that said her words were not to be questioned. "Everyone needs to heal and no one can decide that one form or another is better for any one person. If you need a library to bury yourself in, perhaps I have a suggestion."

* * *

 **September 2nd, 1998**

Hermione moved her things into a private suite on the fourth floor that was once used as a Head Girl room for Ravenclaws. Since the Head Boy and Girl for the approaching year were both Hufflepuff, the room would be empty and Minerva had thought that Hermione would find it suitably peaceful compared to the crowded dormitories of Gryffindor Tower. She was given leave to do her N.E.W.T.s through correspondence, yes, but she was also offered the chance to return to Hogwarts.

Instead of a student, Hermione would be an assistant to Madam Pince, who ended up nearly having a nervous breakdown when the repairs to Hogwarts had left the library mishandled. Shelves left behind unmended in favour of patching up the castle's foundation, whole walls carrying residual spell damage and smoke from a fire that broke out near the front doors, not to mention entire sections left unorganised due to those who were trying to help not paying much attention. The old librarian didn't have the patience to handle it all herself without ending up in St. Mungo's, and so Hermione would look after the library while Madam Pince dealt with the students using it.

It was peaceful.

She'd watched the Sorting from the back of the Great Hall, having preferred to take her meals in her room rather than deal with being surrounded by the students, most of which she knew would ask her about the last year and her time on the run with Harry and Ron. Most would look at her still thin frame and the scars on her body and either ask too many questions or worse, none at all as they tried to hide the pity in their eyes.

She smiled and quietly clapped for every student Sorted, even the ones who went to Slytherin, most looking apprehensive as though they were waiting for the other three Houses to attack them for something out of their hands. Though House rivalries would likely always exist, she knew that Minerva was putting an end to the bullying and prejudice, leaving the competition for Quidditch.

Her days were spent waking up before dawn and smiling as Winky brought her a small breakfast. She'd sit and visit with the little house-elf, asking after her wellbeing and health, and offering tips that she'd picked up in Muggle books on how to help her with her addiction to butterbeer. Then she'd study a bit, get dressed, and make her way to the library where Madam Pince would give her a list of things to attend to. Sometimes students would filter in, but this early in the term, most were still adjusting to being away from home and thought little about their homework. It helped that a lot of the professors had gone easy on them, feeling like they had to compensate for what the children had gone through under the Carrows reign of terror.

She was in the middle of cleaning up a small corner of books that had fallen in an avalanched pile near the charms section when she almost tripped over the form of a small boy, sitting on the floor with a large, opened picture book in his lap. "Oh!" she yelped. "I'm so sorry! Are you all right?"

He looked up, wide blue eyes blinking rapidly and looking guilty as though he'd been caught doing something wrong. "I'm sorry," he said in response. "I . . . am I . . . am I not allowed to be here?"

Hermione frowned. "No, you're fine," she said softly, kneeling down beside him. Had it been so long since she'd been that small? "First year?" she asked and he nodded. She smiled sweetly, reaching out to adjust the crooked collar of his Gryffindor robes. He blushed at her touch and gave her a small smile in return. "I used to come up here and hide when I first came to Hogwarts."

He looked slightly mollified by her words and sat up a little straighter. "Really?"

She nodded. "Are you a Muggle-born?" she asked curiously.

He shook his head. "Pureblood," he replied. "Though I think maybe half, really. Mum's quiet about it and I never met my grandad on her side. Maybe he could've been a Muggle."

She smiled. "Well, it shouldn't matter anymore. I was just curious. I'm a Muggle-born and so I know it can be hard sometimes to learn that you're a wizard or a witch. I imagine it's hard for all students, coming to Hogwarts for the first time. Making new friends."

The boy frowned and lowered his head; long strands of mousy-brown hair fell over his eyes. "I haven't got any."

Hermione sat on the floor frowning, scolding herself for not paying more attention to the Sorting since she was having trouble remembering the boy's name despite the fact that he'd been sorted into her own House. "What about your new roommates?"

He looked up. "They're brilliant," he said. "But we've not really spent time together. Other than sleeping in the same room, I guess. Two of them are already best friends. They like Quidditch." He lifted up the book in his hands, showing her the images of wizards flying around on brooms. "I'm trying to learn about it so I can talk to them."

She grinned. "My two best friends are boys. They love Quidditch. If you want, I could show you where there are more Quidditch books. But you must promise me that you'll not read it before you do your homework," she said.

The boy grinned crookedly at her, the baby fat of his cheeks rounding out his face more when he smiled. The sudden light in his eyes made her smile even brighter and she laughed as she stood up, extending a hand out to him. "Just around this way," she said and showed him where the books on sports were. She found a copy of Quidditch Through the Ages and handed it down to him. "This one helped me learn a lot about the game. Now, if you ever need anything else, you come and find me, all right? My name is Hermione."

"Thanks, Hermione!" he said excitedly.

"Friends are very important," she said with a nostalgic smile. "I don't know what my life would be like without the friends I made here at Hogwarts."

The boy excitedly ran off before she had a chance to ask his name, but she returned to work, sorting through damaged books and helping to clean up sections that were still a mess, promising herself that she would send Harry and Ron an owl to check up on them before bed.

* * *

 **November 2nd, 1998**

"Are you sure you're doing okay?"

She smiled. "I'm actually doing really good, Harry. You know me. I'm at home surrounded by books."

He frowned, brow furrowed. "Yeah, I know. But considering the way I was practically attacked when I walked through the halls just now . . . I know how you get around crowds is all."

She put two books away on a nearby shelf before turning to hug her friend. "I love that you care enough to worry, but honestly, Harry, I'm fine. Better than fine. I haven't had a nightmare in two weeks, and the students don't really react to me the same way that they do you."

Harry grimaced and sarcastically muttered, "Chosen One," under his breath.

Hermione laughed. "Exactly. They're pretty much back to thinking of me as same old Hermione."

"You look like a librarian," he said, tugging on a curl that had escaped the tight braid she had pulled her hair back into. "Want to borrow my glasses?"

She rolled her eyes. "I can see perfectly fine, thank you very much."

"Woah!"

Hermione and Harry turned at the exclamation and she smiled at the sight of the little Gryffindor boy. She'd not seen him in a few months but the robes he wore were now dirty and worn along the bottom hem, and grass stains covered his knees. She grinned at the sight. "I take it you've made friends?"

He smiled at her briefly before his eyes turned back toward Harry in awe. "Sure have! Thanks for the book on Quidditch! We're all planning a trip to see the Kestrels next summer! Jay's parents are going to take the whole bunch of us!"

Harry smiled and awkwardly shuffled his feet, sticking his hands in the pockets of his robes. Hermione took notice and then rolled her eyes. "Sorry, this is my friend—"

"Are you really an Auror?" the boy asked.

Harry's nervous smiled faded into something more genuine. "You mean you don't know . . ." He let out a happy laugh and grinned. "I'm technically an Auror in Training, but I'll be a full Auror in a few years."

"Wow. Two of my friends want to be Aurors," the boy said. "That is if they don't become Quidditch players. Or dragon tamers. Or rock stars."

Harry laughed. "Well, you tell them that the world definitely needs more good Aurors. And dragon tamers. Not sure about rock stars."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You don't need to finish school to be a rockstar." At the boy's interested expression, she panicked and added, "That's not a perk! An Auror or dragon tamer is a perfectly respectable career choice. What about you?"

He shrugged. "Another of my friends wants to work at the Ministry, but he doesn't think he'll get in," he said sadly. "His mum's real sick a lot, so he might have to stay home and take care of her."

Frowning, Harry knelt down, meeting the boy at his level. "Then it's a good thing he's good a loyal friend like you to look after him, yeah?"

Minutes later, after the boy had tripped over his own feet trying to turn the corner of a bookshelf and speed away, Hermione and Harry were still smiling. "Maybe the world really is getting better, Hermione. That kid didn't know who I was. Just an Auror. Just Auror Harry."

She leaned her head on his shoulder. "You're just Harry to me, you know."

He smiled and kissed the top of her head. "Please don't shut yourself up in this library forever. We miss you. You can be just Hermione with us. Or just Hermione the librarian, if you really want—ow! Hermione! There's no pinching in the library! Ow!"

* * *

 **December 22nd, 1998**

Christmas saw the majority of the students leaving Hogwarts, and Hermione relished the idea of being alone in the castle. She'd been invited back to the Burrow for actual Christmas Day, of course, but she insisted on sticking around the castle the rest of the holidays to finish up a lot of the damage in the Restricted Section. Madam Pince had gone on holiday as well, saying that the war had taught her she needed to stop putting off the things she really wanted to do when she had a chance, and so she left Hermione in charge in her absence.

"Hermione?"

She looked up from over the top of her Advanced Transfiguration book to see the boy standing there. "Hello," she said with a smile and closed the large tome, setting it to the side. "I didn't know any Gryffindors were staying for the holiday."

Yeah. Just me and another girl. My mum's visiting her sister in Wales and the rest of my friends left. Plus, I'm behind on Potions and Mum says I should probably use the time to catch up." He shrugged his shoulders, sighed loudly, and then sat down across from her with a thump. "I didn't think you'd still be here."

She smiled awkwardly. "I'm always in the library."

He nodded. "I never see you anywhere else is all."

Frowning, Hermione thought for a moment, wondering if she really should start to venture out a bit more often. "Well, there's a lot of work still to be done in here. Plus, I'm studying for my N.E.W.T.s."

He raised a brow. "I thought you were a seventh year before," he said curiously.

She shook her head. "I was supposed to be but . . . well . . . everything got complicated," she said, not wanting to talk about the year that she had to spend away from Hogwarts, hiding in a tent with her friends, searching for Horcruxes and praying that they'd all survive the end of the war.

He frowned and she looked up, noticing that his hair was a bit longer and the baby fat in his cheeks had thinned out quite a bit. Having friends to run around with was clearly agreeing with the boy. "Do you need help with your Potions work? I could find some books for you."

He laughed. "No, I've got plenty. Plus, there's a girl in my House who said she'd tutor me when she gets back from hols. She's brilliant. Muggle-born too." Hermione couldn't help but grin. "Actually . . ." he began, looking anxious. "I was umm . . . I was wondering . . ." His gaze landed on her Advanced Transfiguration book.

"Yes? Do you need help with Transfiguration as well?"

He swallowed nervously. "I was just . . . curious. Do you know if there are books here on . . . on Animagi?"

She blinked. "Animagi?" The boy fidgeted under her gaze. "Do you know that it's illegal to be an unregistered Animagus?" she asked, thinking of Sirius Black. "And that it's actually quite dangerous to even train to become one."

He nodded, swallowing hard. "I . . . I know. I was just . . . curious is all."

"Hrm."

He averted her gaze. "Because McGonagall is . . . well . . . she's a cat, and I just thought it would be an interesting read."

Hermione sighed. "The only book I know of outside of textbooks that you should already have is in the Restricted Section. But . . . and I'm sorry, I just don't feel comfortable giving it to a first year. You're not ready."

He frowned. "I understand." Standing up, he adjusted his robes, his stance a bit slouched in defeat. "I'm actually a second year," he said with a small laugh, which made Hermione's cheeks tint pink at the mistake, her brows furrowed in confusion. "I'll see you around, yeah?"

"What? Oh, sure," she said with a soft smile, reaching once more for her book. "Have a happy Christmas. Oh! I just realised . . . I've never asked your name."

He chuckled. "Pete," he said, smiling at her. "Peter Pettigrew."

The colour instantly drained from her face. "W-what?"

He turned the corner and walked away.

"Wait!" she yelled and jumped from her chair, rushing after the boy, but when she turned around the same corner of the bookshelf, there was no one there.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

* * *

 **December 23rd, 1998**

"And you're certain that nothing's going on in the Department of Mysteries?" she asked, kneeling by the fireplace in her quarters, staring at Harry's floating head in the green flames.

He nodded. "I'm sure, Hermione. Are you going to tell me what this is about?"

"Can you check the Time Room for me?" she asked, ignoring his question.

Harry sighed. "I already did. When I got your letter, it was the first place I went. Kingsley's reorganised the whole place. All Unspeakables are working with the Aurors to look into tracking the Death Eaters that escaped. There aren't any secrets anymore, just research really. They still haven't opened the Love Room, those brains that attacked Ron have been removed, the Hall of Prophecies has been relocated to another floor, and they've even torn down the Death Room and that bloody veil."

Hermione frowned. "I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't even think about sending you there."

He sighed. "It's all right, Hermione. Sirius died a long time ago. I've . . . I've been back to Godric's Hollow and Hogwarts. There're not many places I can walk in this world where someone I know hasn't died."

"Still, it was thoughtless of me." After a beat, she bit her lower lip and asked, "What about the Time Room?"

Harry laughed. "Hermione, there's nothing there. The whole place has been turned into an office. There's no research being done on time travel. I think considering we won the war, no one that came out on our side would even think about messing with that type of magic just in case they accidentally step on a dragonfly and bring Voldemort back to life."

"Butterfly."

"What?"

"In chaos theory, it's called the butterfly effect when . . . oh, never mind."

Harry smirked. "Hermione, please get out of the library."

* * *

 **February 20th, 1999**

She didn't see the boy for months. She left the library to visit Ginny in Gryffindor Tower, sitting in the common room and watching the portrait hole like a hawk. Students came in and out all day long, but no brown-haired boy with blue eyes amongst either the first or second years. She searched the Great Hall during meals, where she started eating with her friends once more and even ventured out of the castle to look in the Shrieking Shack for signs of activity. Nothing.

She'd almost thought she dreamt up the whole thing in her head were it not for Harry, who had seen the boy as well. She refused to ask her friend about him specifically, considering it was Peter Pettigrew who had been the cause of his parents death, a sore subject matter if there ever was one.

Ron came to visit late in January, bringing with him a gift in the form of an orange kneazle.

"Can you believe it?" he asked with a grin, shifting Crookshanks into her arms. She noted that his were scratched and bleeding. "He showed up at the Burrow one day, out of the blue. Just wandered into the garden and attacked a gnome while I was cleaning around the flutterby bushes. George helped me catch him."

Snuggling the squashed-faced cat against her cheek, Hermione beamed brightly at her friend. "You're brilliant, Ron. Thank you so much. Oh, Crookshanks, I've missed you so much!"

Ron's ears turned pink at the praise and he ran a hand through his hair. "Thanks. Er . . . how're you doing, 'Mione?"

She sighed, putting Crookshanks down on a nearby table. "I'm fine, honestly. Just working very hard and revising for N.E.W.T.s.

He looked around the library. "Harry says you're not getting out much."

Frowning, she narrowed her eyes at him. "Harry needs to mind his own. I'm perfectly fine."

Nodding, Ron put his hands in his pockets. "Listen . . . I didn't want you to hear it from anyone else . . . but . . . I started seeing Susan Bones a few weeks ago."

Hermione smiled. "That's wonderful, Ron. Susan's always been so nice. Be good to her," she said, her smile fading. "She lost everything in the war."

"Yeah," he said with a self-deprecating laugh. "She's strong. She came over originally to bring Mum biscuits, y'know. After Fred died. I couldn't believe it; everything she lost and she still thinks of us. She's great."

"I'm really happy for you. I hope it works out."

She walked him to the gates and then returned to the library, sighing as she tried devoting her time to an Ancient Runes practice exam that Professor Babbling had put together for her. Mind filled up with thoughts of old translations, rune origins and pre-Christian Slavic forms, she didn't hear the sound of skittering nearby. Crookshanks, however, did.

"Crooks!" she shouted as the large cat ran across the table, his tail knocking her parchments to the floor as he dove for a high shelf. "Crookshanks!" She stood and rushed off after her familiar, catching sight of orange fluff as he weaved in and out of the empty spaces on the shelves. "You bad cat, get down here this instant!"

That was when she saw it.

Hermione gasped as her gaze landed on a long rat tail, sticking out between the books on a high shelf. She reached for her wand instantly, two spells stuck on the tip of her tongue. Had it been a normal rat, she would have levitated it out of the library, letting it go into the Forbidden Forest. But with the way Crookshanks was acting, this was no ordinary rat.

" _Stupefy_!" she shouted and the rat vanished behind the shelf, her spell bouncing off of the old wood.

" _Accio_ rat!" she screamed in a last ditch effort.

Nothing happened.

She ran around the corner but no one was there other than Crookshanks, who was stalked around in a circle, sniffing at the ground and looking up occasionally as though confused.

* * *

 **April 3rd, 1999**

She'd visited Harry over Easter hols, helping him clean up Grimmauld Place since he'd finally moved back into the old London townhouse. She accused him of being too lazy to look for a new flat, and he completely agreed. They'd laughed over butterbeers and then he'd spent the night teasing her when she tried to make them both dinner, needing to take over the cooking halfway through in order for the meal to be somewhat edible.

"Can't you cook anything?" He chuckled.

Hermione huffed and fell into a nearby chair. "I cooked mushrooms quite well for a whole year, thank you."

Harry snorted. "Yeah, and now I hate mushrooms."

She threw the cap to her butterbeer at his head. "Hey, Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you have that photo album that Hagrid gave you? The one of your parents?"

He turned around, raising an eyebrow at her. "Yeah, it's on a shelf in my room. Why?"

She shrugged, taking a sip from the bottle in her hand. "Curious is all. I only saw it once, I think, back in second year. I want to see if you're looking more like your dad as you grow older," she lied.

Smirking, Harry turned back to the stove. "I think so. At least my hair. Go on and have a look, but only if you promise not to comment about the laundry on my floor. Unless you want to wash it for me."

She stood and shook her head. "I'm not touching your dirty pants, Harry Potter, thank you very much."

Minutes later, after casting a spell to filter out the horrid smell of sweaty socks and something that she was certain had curled beneath Harry's bed, she took a seat on the edge of Harry's bed and flipped open the photo album. Instantly, an image of James and Lily Potter—alive and happy—looked up at her, laughing joyfully. She smiled sadly at the photograph and turned the page. More photographs of the Potters appeared, including several of James Potter's parents, two of Lily's family, and a whole three pages filled with Sirius and Remus, usually playing pranks on one another. She wasn't surprised to see that there were no individual pictures of Pettigrew. The ones of Sirius were toward the back, captions beneath written in the man's own handwriting. He'd likely filled up the photo album while trapped here at Grimmauld Place before his death. Hagrid wouldn't have had any of the man, after all, considering at the time he'd put the album together for Harry, he'd still believed Sirius to be guilty of betraying the Potters.

Eventually, she found what she was looking for: the photograph of the original Order of the Phoenix.

There he was.

Standing next to the Potters, the people he would betray, his friends who would die because he couldn't keep their secret. She stared at the photo. He was almost ten years older than the last time she'd seen him in the library but there was no doubt. He looked almost nothing like the man who'd fallen at her feet in the Shrieking Shack at the end of her third year, looking up at her with frightened, watery eyes pleading, _"Sweet girl . . . clever girl . . . you — you won't let them. . . .Help me. . . ."_ after Sirius and Professor Lupin had forced him out of his Animagus form. The Animagus form he'd stayed in during their first three years at Hogwarts, sleeping in Ron's bed, right beside Harry, sitting next to her on the Hogwarts Express, eating crisps from her hand and crawling over her books, running away from Crookshanks.

But this boy . . . this man in the photograph looked nothing like that . . . that thing she'd seen in the shack that night. Nor the man who died in Malfoy Manor last year. The man in the photograph had the same blue eyes and brown hair, though thinned quite a bit more. The shape of his face was still the same, bearing a few wrinkles around the eyes and mouth, likely from the stress of playing double agent for the wrong side. He was smiling, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. He looked afraid.

For a split second, he looked like the scared little boy she'd met just a few months ago, lonely and desperate for a friend.

She felt sick.

" _Geminio_ ," she whispered, duplicating the photograph and folding it, sticking it into the pocket of her jeans before closing the album.

Back down in the kitchen, she forced a smile on her face as Harry turned, ladling stew into a bowl for her. "Find anything interesting?" he asked.

She swallowed down the rising bile in her throat. "Did you know that Sirius put a photograph in that album of him pulling down Lupin's trousers in the middle of the common room?"

Harry let out a loud laugh and nodded. "Yeah. I saw that. Wish I hadn't."

* * *

 **April 10th, 1999**

"You haven't changed."

She bolted upright from the table in the library where she'd evidently fallen asleep. Crashed, seemed more apt a term for the exhaustion that had overcome her during late night studying. Despite just being woken, her reflexes were as alive as ever, honed by war and paranoia, and she levelled her wand at Peter Pettigrew just as he did the same.

He wasn't the man in the Order of the Phoenix, the rat-faced bastard in the Shrieking Shack, or the little boy needing a friend. He was sixteen or so, from what she could tell by the inches he'd grown since she'd last seen him, and the slight stubble on his cheeks.

"Why don't you change?"

She stayed silent.

He frowned, looking almost . . . hurt. "They think I'm mental, y'know. My friends. Sirius says he came up here to bother Madam Pince. Asked her if she had a pretty assistant and got an earful from the old witch. Remus is up her all the time and he's never seen you."

"And James Potter?" she said the name, bitterness in her tone as she thought of Harry's father, betrayed by the man—boy . . . man—in front of her.

"Who are you? Really?" Peter asked. "And where did you come from?"

She narrowed her gaze.

Peter swallowed, his expression changing to one that she knew well. Hufflepuffs had a smile that warmed hearts, Ravenclaws had a look that silently asked if you were stupid, Slytherins had their masks that they hid all vulnerability and emotion behind when confronted—Gryffindors, however, summoned courage and it looked the same on every face. "When did you come from?"

Her eyes widened and she briefly glanced away from the hand that held his wand to the other tucked in at his side where a book—her book!—was gripped tightly. "You give that back, you . . . you . . . traitorous little rat!"

His mouth fell open, shocked by her insult. He placed the book quickly down to the side, still away from her. She could read the title on the spine: _Dangers of Time Travel and Magic_.

"Who are you?" he asked again, his voice softer this time, pleading with her.

Hermione shook her head. "Go away. Please. You can't . . . you shouldn't be here."

He blinked. "Am I . . ." Turning, he reached for a book on the nearest shelf and flipped open the cover. "Printed March 1987 . . . mother of Merlin . . . I'm the one that . . . but how?"

She shook her head again and looked away from him, trying to will him to just vanish from her sight. When she opened her eyes again, he was standing in front of her, wand down on the table, looking at her as though she had all the answers to every question he ever needed; looking at her as though he all of a sudden trusted her.

"You'll ruin everything," she whispered. "If I tell you anything, it could change and . . . I can't afford for it to change."

His eyes flickered to a parchment on the table beside her Arithmancy book, glancing at the date. "1999."

"Please, Pettigrew . . . go away. Go back. Pretend you never met me. Forget everything you saw here and—" Her eyes widened as a thought sprung to mind and her wand tightened. " _Obliviate_!" she said, snarling under her breath when he ducked, just in time. He looked up at her, terrified as she reached for him, grasping for the collar of his robe. In the blink of an eye, he shifted into his rat form and scurried away, running down the length of the aisle and vanishing between the sections on Water Plants and Medical Herbology.

Hermione snatched up his wand and tried to think of what to do with it. Not wanting to risk damaging the timeline, she threw it down the aisle and watched as it too vanished into the ether. She waited several minutes before falling to her knees and sobbing, wishing that she could change a few things; wishing she could save Harry's parents, and Sirius, and Remus and . . . and . . . and . . .

She stayed awake as long as possible before exhaustion and stressed forced her eyelids shut once more. When she woke again to sunlight streaming through the windows of the library, she blinked her eyes open and gasped at the sight of a note in front of her.

Hermione,

I shouldn't have bothered you. I'm very sorry . . . for whatever I did to make you angry.

Peter

" _Incendio_."

* * *

 **April 15th, 1999**

"I think it's the ley lines."

Hermione turned around the corner and there he was, a flannel in hand, dusting a nearby shelf. She narrowed her eyes at him angrily and he smiled at her, looking nervous and awkward. He looked down at the cloth and then shrugged. "Detention."

She scoffed, unsurprised.

"My mates flooded the dungeons," he said with a quiet laugh, brushing away the dust that had accumulated on his robes. "I showed up late. Ran into them in the corridor just as they got caught. I think the professors are so used to all of us getting in trouble, that they just assumed I'd been a part of it."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Tormenting Slytherins. Typical. Let me guess, attempting to drown Severus Snape?" she snapped at him.

His stare widened and his cheeks flushed. "I . . . no—how did you—no! I mean, a few years ago, maybe . . . but . . . Snape and I—okay we're not exactly friends but . . . we're not unfriendly. Not since we started revising together about six months back. Besides, I think Lily'd fix James to a toilet seat with a Permanent Sticking Charm if he tried to hurt Severus." He chuckled. "Poor bloke can't lose his girlfriend after he just got her, can he?"

Staring at the boy as he rambled on, occasionally running his hand through his brown hair due to nerves, Hermione's mouth fell open in shock. "Peter, what year . . . are you a seventh year now?" she asked.

He blinked, taken back. "Er . . . no, sixth. Why?"

"And you're telling me that James Potter and Lily Evans are dating?"

He set down the flannel and took a cautious step toward her. "Yeah . . . why? Are they . . . did something happen?"

She turned and ran, her hair swinging behind her as she moved around the bookshelves, through the library and out the doors. Her heels clicked on the floor as she ran toward her suite, shouting the password to enter and storming past a sleeping Crookshanks, falling to her knees in front of the fire. "Number Twelve Grimmauld Place!" she shouted, throwing powder into the flames and sticking her head inside. "Harry! Harry!"

There was no sound.

"Harry Potter!"

"Hermione?"

"Harry, I need to talk to you!"

Harry groaned and peeked into the flames. "Is everything all right?" he asked, voice rising. "Are you . . . is Hogwarts in trouble? Should I tell Kingsley and the—"

"No, no, no," she said quickly, "it's nothing like that. I just had a few questions I needed to ask you."

Harry stared at her. "Hermione. Do you have any idea what time it is?"

She glanced at a clock over his shoulder. "It's not even half nine!"

He turned around and sighed, muttering, "I hate Auror training," under his breath. "Fine, right . . . what did you need?" he asked, tiredly scrubbing his hands down his face.

"Please don't think anything of this, okay? But . . . when did your parents start dating?"

His green eyes widened as he stared at her in silence. "You woke me up for—"

"Harry!"

"Fine! Merlin! Umm . . . seventh year? I think? I don't know, Hermione, I wasn't bloody there," he said, groaning as he sat down in front of the fireplace, lying down on a rug as though he could fall fast asleep on it. "Does it matter? Unless they had a secret love child at Hogwarts that the Dursleys kept in a cupboard in the attic, I don't see what relevance it has on life now."

Hermione pinched her lips together before whispering, "Because they died."

He looked through the flames at her, frowning. "Hermione? Is this . . . is this about your parents?"

She shook her head. "What did we do last year?"

Harry sat up. "Okay, you're starting to worry me now. Stand back, I'm coming through."

"Forest of Dean?"

He blinked and nodded. "Yeah. You and me and Ron. Er . . . you and me and Ron, and then you and me, and then you and me and Ron."

She sighed. "And Voldemort's dead?" At his look, she shook her head again. "I know, I know, I just . . . I had a nightmare is all. I'm fine. I'll be fine. Get some rest, Auror Potter, you look like you haven't gotten much lately."

He laughed softly. "Job perks."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

* * *

 **April 19th, 1999**

"When did they start dating?" Hermione asked Peter the next time she saw him, four days later. He was reading a Divination text, and instinctively she plucked it from his hands, scoffed, and tossed it to the side, mumbling, "Rubbish," under her breath.

Peter looked up at her, brows furrowed. "Umm . . . just before Christmas?" he said as though he weren't entirely sure.

"And Severus Snape . . . he's friends with Lily Potter?"

Peter nodded. "Attached at the hip. James didn't like that much, but then he had Sirius talk Mary McDonald into asking Snape out for hot chocolate over New Years."

Hermione looked down at him, shocked. "He's not in love with Lily?"

"What? James? Has been for years."

"Snape!"

Peter laughed. "In love with Lily? Merlin, no . . . I mean . . . I guess you could see that before . . . maybe. But not since James and Mary. What's going on?"

She paced back and forth. "What else could be different. What did we change?" At his quizzical expression, she sighed. "I think it's the Multiverse Theory. I've already ruled out paradoxes and causality loops, and nothing would have changed if it was a completely fixed timeline because nothing's changed on my side. Somehow, the ley lines have—"

"Ley lines! I knew it!" Peter said excitedly, grinning in a way that reminded her of the little boy she'd met just months ago.

"Yes, ley lines. Ours were damaged. I can't see the extent because I'm not keyed into the wards of Hogwarts, and there's no way I can even examine the foundation matrix of the castle. There are fractures just under the library in several places. It's why you only appear in certain sections and aisles, and why time is faster on your end than on mine. Where it's been years for you since our first encounter, it's only been months for me."

Peter's eyes widened. "Only months? So that's why you're still so young. Bloody hell. What does this mean?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. Er . . . sadly, nothing for me. Maybe . . . maybe a lot of things for you."

"What do you mean?"

Frowning, her eyes met his. He stared at her, enraptured by her words as though he were eager to learn. She almost laughed. It was rare that any boy looked at her like that. "Things in my world . . . they went very badly for a very long time."

Peter frowned at the look on her face and reached out to touch her hand. "I'm sorry," he said. "I . . . was it Death Eaters?" he whispered.

She nodded. "We had a war."

Swallowing, he looked around as though he were worried about being overheard. "There's talk of a war brewing on my end as well. There are some . . . Severus said that he's been invited by other Slytherins to . . . well, he won't say where, not to me, but I eavesdropped accidentally on him and Lily, and she was yelling, begging him not to get caught up in that Death Eater mess with Malfoy and Mulciber."

Hermione took a breath and slowly let it out. "Peter . . . don't let him join them."

* * *

 **May 15th, 1999**

They met every other night once the library was closed. At least, it was every other night for her. For Peter, it seemed to be once every two weeks, and then once a month or two. There never seemed to be a pattern to the way that time was working. What it was doing, however, was moving quickly.

She hadn't wanted to overload him with information all at once, especially since there was a great deal that she didn't know. Stories left behind by Sirius and Remus, rumours overheard by professors that had been around, and second-hand memories that Professor Snape had given Harry were all she had go to by to warn him.

But she still warned him.

Soon Peter was already graduating Hogwarts, and they were both panicked with how to communicate since he wouldn't have access to the school. She couldn't save her own world from war, but she could help save his. She was busy going over a long list of important events that would be happening for him in the next year or so, determined to commit them to his memory since it would be foolish to have him carry the list with him. Should a Death Eater find it, then too much would change, and they'd have no map to work by.

"You have to get Sirius to talk to his brother again. Keep trying. And as for Remus, I don't care what Dumbledore says, you keep him away from the werewolf packs. I'm not sure how, but something happens during that time, and he and Sirius get into a fight that leads to mistrusting one another and—"

"Why'd you attack me?"

She looked up to find herself caught in his blue-eyed stare. "What?"

"You called me . . . you called me a traitorous rat."

Hermione bit her lower lip. "Peter . . . you're not . . . you're . . ."

"What am I to you?" he asked quietly, his voice positively terrified. "What happens to me, Hermione?" he begged, reaching out and grasping at her hand as though she were the only thing keeping him there, keeping him steady.

She searched his face, looking for the traitor in the photograph, looking for the cowardly rat in the Shrieking Shack. He wasn't there. The man in front of her was just Peter, the once friendless boy who'd needed her help. She realised that somewhere along the lines . . . she'd become his friend too. She looked down at the ground, and a thought passed through her mind telling her that she would never be able to scold Harry for his saving people thing since she'd gone and done the same thing.

"Hermione?" he whispered, reaching out and lifting her chin with the edge of his knuckles so that he could look into her eyes once again. "Hermione, what did I do to you?"

She shook her head, tears unwillingly coming to her eyes. "That wasn't you," she insisted. "It can't be you. Please don't let it be you."

He looked properly terrified of her reaction. "I was . . . I was one of them, wasn't I?"

Tears fell onto her cheeks as she silently nodded.

"Oh god!" he said, pulling away from her, looking down at his hands as though they were suddenly infected. "No . . . no . . . how can you . . ." He wiped his palms off on his trousers as though he could wash away what she'd just told him. His eyes widened, and he suddenly looked like he was going to be sick. His gaze met hers and his face paled. "In the Prophet . . . they said that . . . that some Muggle girls were abducted, and they were found . . . naked and . . ." He turned around and retched onto the floor behind him. When she sat up on her knees and reached out for him, he shrank away. "Don't look at me!"

She winced and pulled back, biting her lower lip.

"I . . . you were afraid of me. Disgusted by me. Did I . . . did I—"

"No!" she said immediately. "Peter, you did nothing to me. As far as I know, you never . . . not that. In fact, for all I know, you . . . the you that was here . . . never actually hurt anyone yourself." Briefly, the image of Cedric Diggory flashed through her mind, and she cringed, glad that Peter wasn't looking at her. Telling him that wouldn't do a damn bit of good. She would see to it that the Voldemort of Peter's world would die in the first war and never have a chance to order Peter Pettigrew to murder Cedric Diggory.

"Was."

"What?"

He turned and blinked teary eyes at her. "You said was. You said I was there. Past tense."

She closed her mouth.

"Am I dead?"

When she didn't answer, he swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. "Hermione am I . . . what about my friends? My family? James, Sirius, Remus and . . ." She looked away. "They're dead, aren't they?"

Hermione nodded.

"Did I kill them?"

Slowly, she returned his gaze and opened her mouth to speak, but the long pause of silence was enough of an answer. "You'll change. You'll be different. You'll be braver."

"I have to go," he said, his voice dripping with self-hatred and disgust, defeat and sorrow and grief.

"Peter—"

"Good luck on your N.E.W.T.s . . . you'll do brilliantly, I'm sure."

* * *

 **June 1st, 1999**

She didn't see him again for weeks. She studied for her N.E.W.T.s, fire-called Harry every other night, regularly owled Ron to hear updates on his family and how Molly was baking again and George had gone to the joke shop to start cleaning and rebuilding. Once a week she had tea in McGonagall's office, hiding away her secret anytime the Headmistress asked if there was anything wrong.

"I know it's something of a personal nature, but we're both adults, and I've always thought of you like . . . a niece, perhaps," Minerva said. "But is it . . . man trouble?"

Hermione looked up, shocked by the question. "No, it's . . ." She thought of the small boy in the library that had been replaced by a determined man, desperate to save his world, eager to listen to her advice, and horrified to hear of his sins. She'd always thought of Peter Pettigrew as a rat, a horrible thing and not a person at all . . . but the wizard she'd come to know over the last year was . . . abundantly human. The way he spoke about his friends showed that he was loyal—at least at this point in his life, and the way he talked about his mother showed he had the capacity to truly love. He was intelligent, if not a bit lazy in some subjects, but struggled, fighting tooth and nail to keep up with his friends. James Potter and Sirius were apparently naturally talented, having been raised in magically powerful families and homes. Remus, from what Peter told her, spent every waking moment either studying or applying what he studied to pranks they pulled on one another and fellow students. Peter, however, fought to keep up with them, all the while battling the urge to cater to their whims.

He'd been friendless as a child and basked in the light that Sirius and James bestowed upon him. Hermione learned that it had been at Lily's encouragement that he'd first stood up for himself when James tried to drag him into a prank he thought would go too far. When she'd questioned him about his friendship with Lily, Peter explained that it was because of Hermione that he'd even reached out. He'd never met a Muggle-born before, and like most wizards, had been prey to rumours and myths that bred fear and mistrust at a very young age. Things and people who were different were scary. But Hermione had been a Muggle-born and was the first truly kind person that he'd met at Hogwarts, and so he wondered if Lily, too, would be kind.

And, of course, she had been.

"I'm worried about a friend," Hermione admitted to the Headmistress. "It's quite complicated."

"Just a friend?" Minerva asked.

Hermione touched her hand remembering the way that Peter had looked into her eyes, pleading to know why she had been so angry, so afraid. She hadn't wanted to tell him. She knew how he'd react, and she never wanted him to feel that. "Just a friend," she said softly. "It's quite complicated."

Minerva nodded. "So you've said."

* * *

 **June 2nd, 1999**

Two of her exams were finished, and she rewarded herself with an extra hour of revision for the exams that would take place the following day. The moon was high in the night sky, and the light glowed through the window so brightly, she almost didn't need the lamp nearby lit. Deep in thought over an arithmantic calculation, Hermione almost missed the sound of gasping. She closed her book and put her quill down and listened again.

"Peter?" she whispered.

When she heard it again, she stood and moved quickly down the aisles, searching for the source. She gasped herself when she saw him lying on the floor, wrapped in a robe, his body twitching and spasming painfully. Peter's face was dirty, and tear tracks lined his cheeks like scars. When she fell to her knees at his side, he turned and sobbed against her leg.

"What happened?" she asked, wishing she could take him to Madam Pomfrey.

"C-C-Cru—"

"Oh my god," Hermione said and reached out, pulling him into her arms and holding him close. She flicked her wand once, conjuring a large blanket, placed a Warming Charm on it, and then flung it over his body. "Try to focus on your breathing."

"H-H-Hurts."

"I know."

He looked at her, eyes wide.

She nodded. "I know."

"I'm s-s-sorry . . . Hermione, I'm so—" He choked on a sob, and she shushed him.

"Breathe with me, Peter." She inhaled deeply and then slowly let it out before repeating the process several times. Eventually, he matched the pattern and swiftly fell asleep in her arms. Unable to stop herself, she lifted the sleeve of his robe to note that his left arm was unblemished.

When she sighed with relief, she had to stop herself from crying.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

* * *

 **June 2nd, 1999**

She wasn't sure when, exactly, she'd fallen asleep, but Peter's red-rimmed eyes were open when she woke. The library was still dark and silent save for their soft breathing. "How long has it been?" she whispered.

"A few hours."

They were lying face to face on the ground, covered by the thick blanket that had long since lost the warmth of the charm she'd placed on it. Instead, their combined heat kept them warm, which was nice because the library was quite cold at night. She reached up, examining a bruise on the left side of his face that was swollen, the hints of colour blossoming beneath the skin. His skin was no longer baby soft, signs of a privileged life inside a protected castle. His eyes had lost the innocence they'd once had and she realised that they reminded her of Ron's; of Harry's. Although, despite living in a tent for a year on the run, she'd never fallen asleep this close to either of her best friends. Minerva's nosy questioning voice echoed in her head and Hermione tried to bury it beneath her own subconscious, unaware that she was tracing the small lines on his face that looked like tiny scars. "How long has it been since we last saw one another?"

He winced, embarrassed. "Oh . . . umm . . . about a year and a half."

Her eyes widened. "A year and . . . it's only been . . . I'm in the middle of my N.E.W.T.s."

Peter frowned at the news and sighed. "It's going too fast. I'll probably die of old age before you graduate," he said bitterly. "If I'm lucky."

With some trepidation, she asked, "Who cursed you?"

Peter looked away from her, embarrassed. "Alecto Carrow. Caught me during an Order raid. I was separated from Sirius and . . . I wasn't paying attention much."

"Is everyone else all right?"

He looked tired, rundown, and worried. "She told me something, while I was shaking on the ground. Said that You-Know-Who knows where my mum lives. Said that my dad didn't die of a heart attack last year like we thought."

Hermione's eyes widened at the news. "Your father died?"

He nodded. "Just before . . . before I saw you last."

"You never said."

He shrugged. "There was nothing you could have done and . . . and I thought I had more important things to worry about. I needed to get my mum someplace safe. I thought she'd be good to stay with her sister. But they know where she is and I don't know what to do. The others . . . they don't get it. James's parents died last year too."

"Dragon pox?" she asked, scrunching her face up as she tried to remember.

"Yeah. Nice folks; good people, they were." He reached up and winced as he scratched at his cheek, noticing the swelling for the first time. "Remus's mum died and his dad doesn't speak to him. Sirius," he said and scoffed. "The only person in his family he might have liked was his brother. But the sodding bastard wouldn't listen to me when I told him . . . I told him what you told me to tell him but he's so . . . he's so stubborn, Hermione." Fresh tears pricked his eyes. "He fought me the harder I pushed and . . . Regulus died. We don't even know how or—"

Hermione sighed. "I do."

He looked up at her. "You . . ."

"What are you going to do about your mother?"

He shrugged. "I don't know what I can do. The Order isn't really . . . they're stretched too thin as it is and now with—" He stopped midsentence and looked down.

"With what? With what, Peter?"

Peter licked his lips nervously. "We're not supposed to say," he whispered. "But you . . . you're different and . . . Lily's pregnant. Longbottom's too. Dumbledore's talking about putting them away in hiding. Something's gone wrong, but he won't say what."

Hermione sat up straight and looked down at Peter. "Is Snape a Death Eater?" she bluntly asked.

He averted her gaze. "We're not supposed to say."

"Peter! I'm trying to help you!"

"Well, then you're wasting your time!" He pushed himself up from the floor and kicked off the blanket. "I'm bloody useless, Hermione! I'm not fearless like Sirius or powerful like James or brilliant like Lily or clever like Remus. My friends are separated and the world has gone to shit. Sirius has joined up with the Aurors, James has a family to look after, and Remus—despite trying my hardest to stop him—ran off to spy on the werewolf packs. I begged him, I did everything I could think of short of stunning him, and he told me that Dumbledore needed him." He looked into her eyes, desperate for answers and guidance. "Dumbledore doesn't need me. No one does. I just . . . I'm the one who gets in the way. And now they know I'm weak. He knows I'm weak and my mum is . . ."

She reached out and hugged him tight and close thinking of Harry and how his guilt took hold of him when Cedric was killed, how his grief overwhelmed him when Sirius died, leaving him empty but for the anger deep inside. She thought of the pain on Ron's face when Fred fell in battle, and how he lashed out, sobbing as he pleaded with her to let him go so that he could seek vengeance and kill the Death Eater that had killed his brother. Everyone had lost so much and they all had felt so weak and alone, herself included.

"Did they kill her?" Peter whimpered against her shoulder. "In your world."

Hermione thought she recalled a story where Peter Pettigrew's severed finger had been delivered to his mother along with an undeserved Order of Merlin. She shook away the image of the rat-faced man in the Shrieking Shack. Her Peter wasn't that man. _Her_ Peter.

 _Hers_.

"No," she said softly. "She lived."

He breathed a heavy sigh of relief. "I don't know what to do."

She swallowed. "October 1981."

He pulled away and looked into her eyes. "What?"

She bit her lower lip. "Say no. Tell Sirius no. That you won't do it. No matter what, Peter, don't even give Voldemort the chance to use you. You say you can't do anything? Then do that. Do nothing. Don't agree to help, don't agree to step in, and don't agree to give it all away because you're scared. Be brave."

He shook his head. "I'm not. I'm terrified."

"I was too."

"How did you get over it?"

She shook her head quickly as tears formed in her eyes. "I didn't. I just . . . I was more afraid for my friends than myself."

His fingers brushed against the skin of her arm, consciously; he'd seen the scars before but never could bring himself to ask. Not until now. "Tell me. Please. Tell me everything. Tell me what happened to you."

Hermione looked away, glancing down at the place where his fingers touched her skin. "We were captured during my war. It was an accident and we were caught. They took us to a manor where Voldemort had been staying. They, the Snatchers, wanted to identify us so that they could be rewarded. Everything went wrong," she said with a heavy sigh. "My friends were taken into a cellar and I was tortured for information."

Peter winced.

She didn't tell him how he'd been there, the other him. She didn't tell him how he'd watched, shivering in the corner as Bellatrix cursed her repeatedly, screaming. She didn't tell him that he'd been sent below and how his slight hesitation in killing Harry had been his own undoing. She didn't tell him that he died frightened and gasping.

"You're the bravest person I know," Peter whispered, awed. "I should go. They'll be looking for me since I didn't return and . . . I don't want anyone to get hurt thinking that I'd died or . . . or something worse." He stood up, holding her hand and helping to pull her to her feet as if by instinct. He turned his back to her and sighed, looking toward the end of the aisle where the ley line had cracked.

Hermione frowned, feeling like this was the finality of something important. "Peter?"

He looked back at her. "Yeah?"

"You can do this," she assured him. "Just don't let him use you. Don't switch places with Sirius. Remember, October 1981."

Peter nodded and looked down, licking his bottom lip. "This feels like goodbye."

"I know."

"It might sound stupid . . . I know it will," he whispered as an afterthought. "But . . . I think I've loved you all this time." Hermione froze, caught off guard by the shocking admission. Her body tensed, not knowing what to do as he leaned in, looked her in the eye and sighed. "It's okay, I know you don't feel the same. But . . . could I . . . could I kiss your cheek?" he asked, looking down and cringing at his own words, his cheeks colouring a deep red. "You know . . ." he muttered after clearing his throat. "For umm . . . luck, and . . . such."

Hermione smiled. "For luck," she agreed.

Peter looked up and smiled at her, the kind of secret smile that she thought only belonged to her. Something that maybe not even James or Sirius or Remus had ever seen because Peter had always been their funny, awkward little friend. The boy who laughed at their jokes and followed in their shadows and looked up to them as though they were untouchable. He never opened up to them, not like this.

His lips were soft as they gently brushed against her cheek. "Thank you," he whispered. "For giving me a chance after everything. For . . . for thinking that I was worth saving."

He made to step away from her and the thought that this was it had her panicking. The Peter Pettigrew she'd met when she was fourteen was not this man. That Peter she had pitied but never grieved when he died. This Peter, her Peter, was sweet and kind and afraid for his family and friends and somehow he looked to her as an anchor for the Gryffindor courage that was buried deep inside of him.

And she very much did not want him to lose that.

She didn't want to lose him.

She pressed her lips against his, earning a surprised squeak from the man in return. He stood frozen stiff for a moment before his arms relaxed and wrapped gently around her. He never pressed further than she did; instead, he mimicking the way her lips moved against him in all ways other than the smile that eventually overtook his mouth.

"Don't forget me," he whispered against her lips.

* * *

 **June 30th, 1999**

N.E.W.T.s were over and Hermione stood in the library, looking around as though she were desperate to find some new project to keep her there. Students had long since abandoned the books in favour of parties in their common rooms, and so every noise had her glancing up, hopeful to see a familiar head of mousy-brown hair and bright blue eyes.

But Peter never showed.

She thanked Minerva for the opportunity to return and just before leaving for Hogsmeade Station, turned and looked at the older witch. "There's a few broken ley lines beneath the library. I don't know how bad the damage is, but as Headmistress you'd be able to tap into the foundation to have them repaired now that the students will be gone."

Minerva's eyes widened, clearly shocked by the revelation. She gave Hermione a stiff nod of thanks and then said, "Come by for tea sometime next week, if you have the time available, Miss Granger."

She fell asleep in her old room at Grimmauld Place, glad that Harry's sweaty sock smell hadn't permeated the rest of the house. He'd been kind enough to offer her a place to stay until she found her own, and she had fully intended on repaying him by ousting the smelly demon from his room. And then perhaps charming his dirty laundry to follow him around the house until he did his own wash.

When he stumbled in around two in the morning about a week after she'd moved in, limbs heavy and dark circles under his eyes, she decided to cancel the laundry assault on her friend.

"I don't know if I'm cut out for this, Hermione," Harry said miserably. "I'm so tired and . . . would it be awful if I quit? It would be awful if I quit, I know. I'm supposed to be an Auror. I wanted to be an Auror. Hermione, why did I want to be an Auror?"

She smiled sadly at her pitiful friend. "Because you wanted to fight Dark wizards."

"I did that already! Can't I retire?" He groaned and rolled over on the sofa, burying his head in a pillow. Hermione sighed at the sight of him and began tugging at his Auror robes, cringing at the smell of them. Harry's arms twisted behind his back like a limp rag doll as she stripped him down to a vest and his trousers.

"I'm only doing it this once," she insisted as she gathered his things for the wash. "And Harry, if you want to quit being an Auror, quit being an Auror. You, above everyone else I know, deserves to have a life that makes you happy. Don't you think we've all spent just far too long being afraid and miserable and worried about everything?"

He nodded and waved her off.

She could hear him snoring before she left the room, carrying his clothes down to the washing room that they'd charmed the previous winter to work in a similar fashion as a Muggle laundromat. She tossed his things into the large square-shaped basin, tapped the top of it closed with her wand, and smiled as it began churning.

* * *

 **July 1st, 1999**

When she woke, she slipped down to the washing room once more to pull Harry's robes so that she could charm them dry, seeing as they didn't have a proper yard to hang a clothesline. Yawning, she reached into the square basin and pulled on the robes, shaking them loose.

"What the . . ."

Hermione blinked.

The robes weren't Auror robes.

She looked over the dark blue fabric with gold stitching, wondering what the hell she'd done wrong with the charm the night before. She quickly magicked the robes dry and turned them inside out so that she could look at the wording on the back. There, in bright gold lettering read: Potter.

"You'll catch that Golden Snitch with the easiest of ease. Grab your Beater's bat and in no time flat.

Prove the game is yours to seize!"

She looked up overheard where the singing was coming from. "Harry?" she called out.

"Beat back those Bludgers, boys, and chuck that Quaffle here. Those noble navy robes know not one ounce of fear. Won't see them blagging, blatching or blurting on their brooms. Playing by the rules, they're nobody's fools. Other teams will meet their dooms!"

The door swung open and Harry grinned at her as he strolled into the room, spinning once as he sang, snatching up his robes and throwing them over his shoulder before grabbing her hand and swinging her in a quick dance. "Can I hear you shout Puddlemere United?" Harry sang.

Hermione gaped at him, eyes wide.

"Hermione?"

She stared.

He sighed dramatically. "Your line is: Puddlemere United, always number one!"

"Quidditch."

He blinked at her and then laughed. "How much did you drink last night?"

"Drink?"

Harry rolled his eyes and kissed her cheek. "Thanks for getting my robes for me. You know I'm pants at doing my own wash. You think I'd learned by now. Ron says that it's better luck to have a witch wash your robes though. I think it's rubbish, but who am I to question the streak I've been on lately?"

"Streak?" She looked around the room. "We're . . . we're still in Grimmauld Place, aren't we?"

Harry's brows rose. "You all right, Hermione? You're acting strange."

"You're acting happy!" she accused him as though it were a terribly thing.

He laughed. "It's a good day!" he told her. "We've got a game this afternoon, and I know it's just friends and family, but I'm still wearing my own robes, I don't care if you think it's tacky! Ginny's going to be there, and she thinks I look fit in my robes. Then again, I think she might be trying to steal my spot on the team."

"Team."

Harry sighed. "Hermione, go and take a Sober Up Potion. If you show up to my parents anniversary party drunk, my mum'll have kittens."

He turned to make his way back up the stairs, only to find himself with a witch on his back, wrestling him to the ground. "Hermione! Gerroff!" Harry turned over to try and get himself free of her grip, but she smacked away his hands and took a fistful of his hair in her left hand, yanking his head back. "Ow! What the hell!?"

She made a loud yelping noise and brought both of her hands to cover her mouth.

Harry winced and rubbed at his scalp, pushing fringe away from his bare, unblemished, scar-free forehead.

Hermione screamed.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N** : Thanks for reading. Feel free to leave your strongly worded (and likely capslocked) reviews. PS: A lot of reviewers have already asked, so I'll say that my fancast for Peter is NOT Timothy Spall. Young Peter is Jamie Bell, and older Peter is James Corden.

* * *

 **Chapter Five**

* * *

 **July 1st** **, 1999**

"Oh my gooooooood," Hermione said, making a stressed, high-pitched sound in the back of her throat as she clung to Harry's arm with a vice-like grip as he Side-Along Apparated them both to the backyard of what she recognised immediately as the Potter Cottage at Godric's Hollow.

The last time she'd seen the place, it had been Christmas during the war, and the house was overrun with grass and weeds, covered in snow, and half of the roof had been caved in as though an explosion had taken place inside. Now, however, the house was alight with life. Shining in the summer sun, the old cottage looked lived in, but well cared for. Flowers blossomed from the magical vines that covered the outside of the brick on the east wall of the house, some hanging over an open patio, twirling around with life like living snakes, seeking out warmth or food or affection. Music was playing from inside the house, and through an open window, Hermione could see the flash of red hair and a woman who most certainly was not a Weasley.

"Mum!" Harry called out as he dragged Hermione toward the house. "Do you have any Calming Draught? I think Hermione drank a subpar Sober Up Potion or . . . or something."

Lily Potter stepped out the back door and onto the porch, frowning in concern as she approached the pair. She was just as beautiful as the photographs in Harry's album, but clearly aged by time and life. Her red hair was vivid, though not as healthy as it had clearly been in her teen years and early twenties. What few lines the woman had on her face stood out only when she smiled, something Hermione might not have seen had Lily not tossed a look at her son and then kissed his scar-free forehead in greeting. She flicked a willow wand at Hermione's head and then frowned. "Calming Draught," she said in disapproval as she looked at her son. "Honestly, Harry."

He shrugged innocently. "What?"

"Go inside and help your father and Sirius with the decorations."

Harry laughed. "And by that you mean—"

"Make sure they don't make my house look horrid, yes," Lily said with a laugh and shooed Harry through the door before turning back to Hermione. "Calming Draught to counteract a subpar Sober Up Potion. How any son of mine was born without the ability to properly brew, I'll never know. James wasn't nearly so bad. Still," she sighed, putting her hands on her hips, "I think I'll keep him."

Hermione blinked, face pale as she stared at the ginger witch.

Lily frowned. "I suppose you have a lot of questions?"

Brown eyes widened. "Y-You know?"

Nodding, Lily reached out and took Hermione's arm. "Come and have a seat with me. You have residual Time Magic floating around your body," she said. "How long has it been for you?"

Hermione bit her lower lip. "I went to bed last night and everything was normal and I woke up and . . . Harry plays professional Quidditch?"

Lily smiled. "Don't let his head get too big," she said. "He's Reserve Seeker. Puddlemere's first string broke his arm in a pub brawl and even though the bones have mended, their coach is punishing him by giving Harry the rest of this season. At least while he's on a winning streak."

Hermione frowned. "He was an Auror."

Lily's eyes widened. "An Auror? My Harry? Oh that's . . . that would make me sick with worry. Much worse than Quidditch, I imagine."

"How did this happen? I mean . . . I can guess how. Peter . . . but, I thought it was a Multiverse Theory and if it wasn't, if I was actually changing things, then why did it take so long to take any effect, time is linear, or is it? And how do you know what's going on? Does everyone know? What ramifications has their been for me meddling with this type of magic? Did Voldemort—"

"Oh! I'm stopping you right there, dear," Lily said, squeezing Hermione's hand. "Tom Riddle is dead."

Hermione let out a breath of relief. "When?"

Lily frowned. "Last year. As for the time shift you're experiencing, I'm the only other person that knows besides Peter. After Harry was born, he came to visit me, to see Harry, and told me everything. He was carrying around a heavy burden and without access to Hogwarts to try and see you, he needed help. We all need help sometimes," she said with a small smile. "He told me all about you, how you met, and . . . he was researching it in Hogwarts, I believe. Asked me all sorts of questions when we were young and I never put them together. I always just assumed he was curious, or perhaps that he was distracting me so that the other boys could run off and cause a bit of mayhem."

Hermione stared at the woman, unable to look away from her eyes—bright green, just like Harry's. "He told you everything?"

A loud crash from inside the house distracted them and Lily winced.

"Dad! Hold still! Sirius . . . you're not helping!"

"I think I've had more experience detangling streamers from antlers, Harry, thank you."

"—didn't even need to shift. Why did you even—"

"I couldn't reach the top shelf and you have to admit, he's taller like this!"

"Levitating Charm, Sirius!"

"Ugh, you sound like your mum when you talk like that."

Lily pinched the bridge of her nose, looking as though she were silently counting to ten. Hermione stared into the open window, catching small glimpses of moving figures, one of which was clearly a very, very large deer. "Everyone's alive? Sirius and . . ."

Drawing her attention back to Hermione, Lily cleared her throat. "Well, not everyone. It was still war. Many people died but . . . Peter told me what he did in your previous timeline. What happened to James and I. Sirius stayed our Secret Keeper," she said. "We were safe that October. But . . . Voldemort kept coming and we couldn't hide forever. So we took the fight to him. Dumbledore killed him in battle, or so we thought."

"The Horcruxes," Hermione whispered.

Lily nodded. "He returned to full power during Harry's . . . during your fifth year."

"Still?" Hermione asked, brow furrowed. "Then . . . fixed points stayed the same but others changed," she whispered to herself. "Remus and Tonks? Dumbledore? Snape? Fred Weasley? Oh gods, did Ron survive? What about Neville and Luna and—"

"Calm down," Lily urged. "I'll give you a list of who fell in the war. Remus is fine, he and Dora will be here later for the party," she said with a smile. "You'll need to calm down by then. Dora's sure to notice a difference in you. All the Weasleys are well and fine," she assured her. "Neville and the Lovegood girl?" she asked and at Hermione's nod, Lily smiled. "Alive and well. Severus is travelling abroad this year. Last owl came from Portugal, I believe."

Hermione's eyes widened. "Professor Snape is alive?"

Lily stared at her strangely for a long moment until a wide grin spread across the older witch's face. "Professor Snape? He was you . . . oh Merlin, I'm going to laugh . . . was he very terrible? He hates children!"

"Then who was our—?"

"Slughorn stayed on at Dumbledore's request," Lily said with a smile. "He's still there, last I knew."

Frowning, Hermione looked down at her fingers, finally noticing that she was wearing chipped polish, something she never would have worn in her previous time. She blinked as a memory of Tonks painting them flickered into her mind. "Tonks . . . er . . . Dora," she whispered. "We're friends."

Lily smiled brightly. "You remember?"

"We met at . . . you introduced us," Hermione said, looking up at Lily with wide eyes. "After Harry met me at Hogwarts first year . . ." Memories came flooding in in bits and pieces, filling in empty spaces and stepping in next to previous memories instead of replacing them. There had still been Quirrell that first year, still a troll, still Harry and Ron saving her, and still a Sorcerer's Stone. But Slughorn taught them Potions instead and then that summer, she and her parents had been invited over to Potter Cottage.

"Harry knew you were Muggle-born and thought it would be helpful for you and your parents to meet me," Lily said. "So I got together a group of Muggle-borns, Ted Tonks included. Sirius has always been close to Andromeda, and you and Harry barely missed going to school with Dora. The two of you hit it off quite instantly despite being so very different."

Hermione felt tears prick at her eyes as the memories continued to filter in. "She morphed her hair to look like mine because I told her that I hated it," she said softly. "I . . . she still married Remus?"

Lily rolled her eyes. "That stubborn wolf," she said with a sigh. "Took them years, of course. But they married, had little Teddy, and now they live in Yorkshire in Remus's childhood home. Sirius took over Grimmauld Place when his mother died, insisting that he'd burn the place to the ground, but we stopped him. Cleaned the manor out instead. He donated it to the Order since he preferred his flat, but then after Diagon Alley took a lot of damage in the war, he moved in and you and Harry joined him."

A panic sunk into Hermione's stomach. "Why?" she asked, instantly thinking of her parents. "Did I not have . . . anywhere else to go?"

It took Lily a moment to understand, but she smiled. "Your parents moved to Australia during the war and you wanted to stay in Britain. Last I heard, they're doing very well and if I remember correctly, you're planning on visiting them for Christmas."

Hermione let out a quiet sob. Gasping, she covered her mouth. "They're . . . they remember me?"

Lily sighed and stood up. "Stay here," she instructed and then walked into the house. "James, where's my—oh for the love of Merlin—I want this place cleaned up in five minutes! Don't you give me puppy eyes, Sirius Black! Harry, get them back to human and all of you clean this up. Where's my—never mind, I see it."

A moment later, she returned with a small vial in hand. "This should help speed the process along. A little invention of mine. Think of it as an Invigoration Draught for you mind."

* * *

Hermione basked in the comfort of being surrounded by a crowd of family and friends, alive and well and not irrevocably damaged by war and death. Her memories of the altered timeline returned to her and when she questioned everything again, the impossibility of it all having happened, Lily had pointed out that her son's godfather often ventured into the Muggle world . . . on a leash.

"Some things you can't explain. Magic is like faith, Hermione. You just have to learn as much as it will let you and then trust yourself to embrace the rest of it."

Since Harry was happy, Hermione thought she would do just that.

Her best friend had no scar on his forehead, but several elsewhere thanks to battles he still took part in during the war. Despite James and Lily Potter surviving, not to mention Sirius, Dumbledore believed in the prophecy and against the wishes of the Potters, had instructed Harry still in the personal destruction of Tom Riddle. Dumbledore's greed still had him cursed by the Gaunt ring and the man still died, leaving behind Minerva to take over the school. No Carrows. Hermione and Ron had gone along with Harry as they'd done previously, although the year the trio had spent on the run in her original time, was condensed into a few months. The final battle took place at Hogwarts, where they'd all returned for their seventh year before Harry was recruited by Puddlemere United. Ron was hired on by his brothers to help open a brand of WWW in Hogsmeade, and somehow, despite not bonding over shared grief, he and Susan were still together.

The scar on Hermione's arm was gone as well, replaced by small burn marks from another battle that seemed pointless compared to what she remembered from her previous encounter with Bellatrix that didn't even happen this time around. Bellatrix Lestrange had been killed in battle by Sirius, long before she even had a chance to attack Frank and Alice Longbottom. Most Death Eaters were still in Azkaban if not dead, including Lucius Malfoy who was on a reduced sentence since he and his family had turned spy for the Order in the final leg of the war. Draco, unfortunately, was still quite the prat, but Hermione wagered that an prat without a Dark Mark was preferable.

She sat on the grass in the backyard of Potter Cottage while Tonks braided her hair. Little Teddy was fast asleep against Hermione's side, having finally crashed after all the sugar that Sirius had kept sneaking him all night. The lifelong bachelor, Hermione learned, really enjoyed living with her and Harry, insisting that it made him feel young again. She found she didn't quite care what antics the old dog got up to these days, because he was alive and healthy, and hadn't been branded physically or mentally by Azkaban.

"Pete!" Sirius shouted. "I thought you weren't coming back for another week!"

Hermione stiffened at the name, something Dora took immediate notice of and chuckled. Flashes of the last time she'd seen Peter Pettigrew came to mind. A dark library, a sense of finality and panic, and a kiss that was sweeter and softer than any she'd previously had, including the battle driven one she'd shared with Ron and the many stolen snogs she'd had with Viktor during their very brief dalliance during the Tri-Wizard Tournament.

"I knew it," Dora said, snorting indelicately.

"Knew what?" Hermione replied.

"That I wasn't the only one who had a thing for older men."

Hermione turned around quickly, though making sure not to jostle the sleeping toddler at her side, to glare at the metamorphmagus. "I am . . . I hardly think that . . . I don't even know—" She looked up to see the back of Peter's head as he leaned in close while Lily whispered in his ear conspiratorially. His fingers were twitching nervously at his side. She bit her lip anxiously. "This might sound positively mental, Dora, but . . . do . . . do Mister Pettigrew and I know one another?"

Dora stared at her. "Mister Pettigrew? Oh, that's fantastic," she said with a laugh. "You and Mister Pettigrew have met, yes, though only for the first time at my wedding. He was out of country working most summers when you lot came home from Hogwarts."

Hermione nodded. "Right . . . and he does . . ." she prompted.

Blinking, Dora leaned forward and pressed her hand to Hermione's forehead. "You feeling all right there, 'Mione?"

"Shut it," Hermione said, pushing the hand away from her. "Wait . . . Potions. He procures ingredients for apothecaries. He works for Prof . . . er . . . Snape. Severus. Snape."

Worried, Dora leaned forward and reached for the bottle of butterbeer that Hermione had been drinking out of, and sniffed the rim. Hermione ignored her and stood up, gently shifting Teddy into his mother's arms before dusting the grass from her jeans.

"Hermione," Peter said, turning around to come face to face with the witch.

Her eyes widened at the sight of him.

He looked nothing like the man she'd met in the Shrieking Shack. Nothing at all. His hair was thinner than it was as a young boy, but still thick and brown, no signs of grey despite James Potter already sprouting a few silver strands of his own. Remus as well. Sirius still had a head of health black locks, but she'd overheard Harry whispering to Ginny that he thought his godfather secretly dyed it. Peter, however, looked natural. His blue eyes were bright still, and he had small lines at the corners as well as a long, thin, silver scar on the right side of his temple. Her eyes lingered on it long enough that he cleared his throat.

"Umm . . . Slicing Hex," he said, looking awkward as he spoke. "Got a few of those," he added before sticking his hands into his pockets. "Do you . . . would you like to take a walk?"

She nodded.

Once away from the crowd, venturing down the streets of Godric's Hollow, Peter offered her his arm and she hesitantly took it. "Lily told me that you umm . . . that you're . . . you're you."

She smiled. "I don't remember everything, not yet."

"You will. I hope you will. You've had a good life here. In this . . . I made sure," he said. "I did what I could to make sure you were safe." His eyes flickered to her arm and he smiled at the sight of it bearing no awful, cursed slur. "It's gone."

Her smile brightened. "I assume yours is as well?" she said, looking at his left arm. He had no silver hand, no rat-like features, and no . . . Her eyes flickered to the way he moved back from her. "Peter?"

He frowned. "It's not what you think. Dumbledore . . ." He sighed and lifted his sleeve, revealing the faded Dark Mark. "I was wrong," he said. "When I told you that I was useless. I went to Dumbledore and told them that Voldemort threatened my mum, and that . . . that they wanted to use me against him. So he sent me in with Severus. We spied on the Death Eaters for years." Hermione stared at him in shock. "When . . . when Sirius brought me in to change the Secret Keeper, I remember what you said and I told him no. He called me a coward and then punched me in the face," he said, a smile on his lips as though the memory were a happy one. "Of course he didn't understand, but he learned to."

Hermione smiled softly at the man. "You're very different."

He frowned. "I would hope so," he said, looking down, showing that the memory of what he had been in her original time still weighed heavily on his shoulders. "I've tried to . . . to do right by my friends and . . . and be the kind of man that—"

She took his face in her hands and silenced him with a kiss. He stiffened, shocked, just like he had in the library. When she pulled away from him, she couldn't help but laugh at the frozen, slightly dopey look he had on his face. "I meant . . . you're different from that scared little boy I met. The boy who thought he couldn't do anything to help anyone."

"Oh."

"Oh," Hermione repeated. "Umm . . . I hope I didn't . . . I mean, I don't know much about your life here or . . . gods, I didn't even think to ask if you were married or—"

"Not!" he blurted out, rather loudly. "Married, that is. I'm umm . . . free . . . for instance, tomorrow night?"

Hermione grinned up at him. "Dinner?"

Peter laughed, his smile lighting up his whole face.


End file.
